I Tremble
by wanderingmind911
Summary: She cocked her gun. "Listen carefully Dr. Watson. Unless you do exactly as I say I will kill your friend. Again. And this time he won't be coming back."
1. Chapter 1

**I just couldn't resist this one. Probably AU. Gender swap.**

**Full Summary**: Sabrina Moran is the last of Jim's web that needs to go, and perhaps the most dangerous. But the tables are turned when she gets to Sherlock first. Now, she is going to get revenge for Sherlock taking the only man she ever loved.

**Chapter One**

_Darkness had no need_  
_Of aid from them-She was the Universe  
_Lord Byron, _Darkness_

It was suppose to be, as usual, a quiet evening for John Watson.

The doctor walked to the pub where he was meeting some of his military mates on leave. He did not want to go, but he could not coop himself in that bloody flat with his sister any longer.

I'll have a pint or two and then leave, Watson promised himself. I'm too tired to go gallivanting around town.

It wasn't until he entered the bar that he realized he made a genuine mistake.

It was a college pub.  
And he was one of the oldest ones in there by at least 20 years.

Watson tried to escape discreetly, but to no avail. His mate Stephens saw him, grabbed his shoulder and steered him to the bar. In fact, fact was probably Stephens idea to come to a young people's pub. He had been a bit of a lecherous bugger in military camp.

In no time at all, Stephens had two horny freshmen on his shoulders, while John Watson sulked alone, defeated and embarrassed. He was about to leave when a girl tapped him on his shoulder.

"Oy," she shouted over the riff raff, "that your mate?"

John glanced at Stephens, who was burrowing his face in a girls' cleavage. He looked back at the young woman. She was not dressed for going out. In fact, it looked like she had just rushed out the door, with no signs of makeup and dressed only in a t-shirt and gym shorts. Regardless, her natural beauty outshone every whored up girl in the pub.

"He's got my friend," she continued. "I need to get her home."

"Which one is it?" John asked.

"The really slutty one over there next to your friend."

John gave the girl a look. "Yes, because that narrows it down quite a bit."  
"Her!" the girl pointed. It was the student Stephens had been motorboating earlier.

The under dressed girl pushed through the crowd, and grabbed her friend, trying to pull her away from Stephens. "We have to go, Claire. Now."

"What the hell, Marrry," the slutty one slurred. "I'm not ready to go."

She began to turn away, but Mary tightened her grip. "Come on. I'm not going to get blamed again because you miss your final tomorrow. You text me to come get you. I have."

The Claire girl opened her mouth to protest, but instead nearly fell to the floor. John quickly caught her, and lifted her up. Claire laughed. "You military types just wanna have FUN don't you?"

Mary frowned. It was not a judgemental frown. It was the same frown John used to give Sherlock- a general, getting real tired of your shit frown.

"Listen," she asked. "I know it's asking a lot but- could you help me with my... little problem?"

Her eyes were large. Blue, like a stormy ocean. John loved blue eyes, storms, and the ocean. "Sure. Yeah ok."

Together, they dragged Claire out of the bar, and into the cab.

"Are we's gonna have ourselves a threesome?" She giggled.

"Claire," Mary muttered, "do shut up."

* * *

That's how it started. On an unassuming night, in a college pub.

John found that Mary was a senior in Med School. She was incredibly bright, if not a bit intense sometimes, and sarcastic. But when the moment called for it, the young woman could be delicate. She could also dress up, although she still wore minimal makeup.

John liked that. He liked on their first date she ate spaghetti, and made inappropriate jokes about the various other couples in the room. Liked that she could take a joke, hit the ball right back without offense, that she'd rather read National Geographic but still worked out and forced John to get off his arse, too. Bit by bit, he was becoming whole again.

Tonight was their sixth month anniversary.

They had been halfway to the hotel, when John realized his wallet was missing. Together, they both went back to Baker Street to get it, even though secretly the couple knew they might not leave.

"Take me right here," she whispered in his ear, as soon as they walked on in. She pressed herself against him, and all thoughts of dinner were forgotten.

"I don't think that would be appropriate."

The voice was cold. Hard.  
Familiar.

John rushed up the stairs, leaving Mary wide eyed and bewildered.

It was Sherlock. Tied to a chair. Beaten and bruised.  
Alive. Breathing.  
But barely.

"Hello John," he croaked with as much strength as he could muster. "Not exactly how I wanted to do this."

"Sherlock, what happened? How are you...?"

"Alive?" A new voice. Not at all familiar. She stepped from the kitchen, gun pointed at Sherlock. A tall woman. Jet black hair. Porcelain skin.

A killer.

She cocked her gun. "Listen carefully Dr. Watson. Unless you do exactly as I say I will kill your friend. Again. And this time he won't be coming back."

"Who the hell are you?" John demanded, quietly.

The woman smirked. "Sabrina. Sabrina Moran."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry I've been MIA, school has had me swamped. Enjoy. Ish.**

Chapter Two: Escape and Capture

"Don't make me ask you again," Sabrina warned, putting the gun directly onto Sherlock's temple.

In response, the detective rolled his eyes. He was a bit tired of her melodramatics. John remained calm as ever. It was impossible to process the situation given circumstances.

All he knew was that Sherlock was alive. Captive, injured obviously, but alive.  
And somewhere downstairs was his girlfriend- the one John was going to propose to.  
In mortal danger.

He had only one choice.

"What do you want?" John asked, voice shaking ever so slightly. "Just tell me."

A grin reserved for devils spread across Sabrina's face. "A good question. What do I want when I have the man who is technically dead? Who killed my partner?" Her voice lowered, hardly a whisper, and she stepped toward John. "Do you know what it was like- lifting his body from the concrete? The blood, everywhere? Do you, Dr. Watson?"

John remembered Sherlock lying on the ground. The blood, everywhere. His body being lifted from the ground.

He met Sabrina's eyes. "I do."

"I know," she said sweetly. "But Sherlock doesn't."

At this, Sherlock tried to leap from his chair. It was no use. John realized for the first time that Sherlock had been tied with barb wire- the spikes cut through his shirt as he tried to free himself.

"Don't John!" He cried through gritted teeth. "Don't..."

"Shut up, you," Sabrina commanded boredly, and without a thought shot a bullet through Sherlock's foot. The silencer deafened the noise. Sherlock gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out in pain. Sabrina rolled her eyes.

She looked at John. "It seems like you're in quite the debacle, Dr. Watson. For all the world knows, Sherlock is dead. If I shot him... it would hardly matter. But if you give your life he will still live. Unknown. Does that sound fair?"

"How do I know you won't kill him after I'm gone?" John asked. He ignored Sherlock's eyes widening.

"That's a fair question," Sabrina conceded. "I guess there's no way of knowing."

"John please," Sherlock protested. "Don't. Give. In. Everything I've worked for has been meant to keep you safe, to keep you going on with your life..."

"And it seems you've failed miserably," Sabrina sighed.

Whatever light still happened to be in Sherlock's eyes was snuffed out. All he had worked for the past year and a half, destroying the web, the gunmen, watching out for John...there was nothing now.

John would die for him.

Even though he'd disappeared without a trace, put him through agony, John would still die for Sherlock.

Sherlock's head lifted to Sabrina. "Don't. Don't do this."

It was a desperation in Sherlock's voice John had never heard before. Not even when he'd been strapped to a bomb did his friend ever sound this hopeless. And John realized it was because there was nothing Sherlock could do but watch as his meticulous plans unravelled before him.

Sabrina knelt beside the detective, and pushed back a lock of his curly black hair. "I have to, Sherlock," she explained soothingly. "An eye for an eye. You didn't hold up your end of the bargain. There's a penance to repay."

"Then kill me!" Sherlock shouted, the barb wire ripping his clothes as he strained against the bonds. "Kill me instead!"

"I should," Sabrina admitted. "But I'd rather you go on with the rest of your life knowing how miserably you failed. Knowing, as I do, that you're the reason the one good thing your life is gone." Her head turned to John. "That's how you know he'll live, Dr. Watson. Death would be too kind. And we all know you won't let him die."

For a long moment there was silence. John opened his mouth, ready to accept the sacrifice, when a creak from the stairs interrupted him. Sabrina stood abruptly, holding her gun at the entrance of the flat.

Shakily, Mary entered the room. Her eyes locked on John, fearful, questioning. How is he alive? What is happening now?

"Well, well," the assassin smirked. "I'd've thought you'd gone to the police by now. Not that there was anything you could do but tell them Sherlock Holmes was being held captive in 221B. They'd just have found John's body by the time you got back."

Tears welled in Mary's eyes. "You don't have to do this."

Sabrina groaned, rolling her eyes, and grabbed Mary gruffly by the arm. "You've seen too many action movies. I'm not going to be distracted by the crying blonde. Get into the kitchen. Now. And don't think for a second you can do anything with that knife you're hiding."

"It's not a knife," Mary whimpered. "It's a wine bottle."

And then, before anyone realized what the hell was happening, Mary smashed the bottle over Sabrina's head. It surprised her enough to drop the gun, which Mary kicked out of the way. In a second, Sabrina backhanded John's girlfriend, and she fell to the ground. John grabbed the gun, and pointed it at Sabrina.

"Your girlfriend has some tenacity," Sabrina smirked. "I like that."

John cocked the gun, ready to kill.

Downstairs, the front door burst open. "POLICE!"

In a flash, Sabrina ran to the window. John shot at her, missing her by a millimeter as she jumped out, landing on a car below. Lestrad entered the room, gun pointed.

"She's jumped out the window," John said.

Lestrad glanced at the open window, and then his head locked on Sherlock, bleeding in the chair. "Jesus..."

The detective was losing consciousness. His eyes rolled to the back of his head.

"He needs medical attention now," Mary said, trying to stand. Her legs, however, along with the rest of her body, was in shock. She fell back down. Lestrad helped her to the couch, while John attended to Sherlock.

"An astute observation Mary," Sherlock slurred. "Honestly, John, where do you find these women?"

"He's talking," John said. "That's a good sign. Lestrad, there's a pair of pliers in a toolshed in my room. Get them. The toolshed is under my bed."

Lestrad blinked. "What about..."

"She'll be long gone by now," Sherlock said, still sounding drunk. "And I'm losing a good amount of blood."

Lestrad nodded, and ran up the stairs.

"John," Mary said. "The police- the actual police- will be here soon. They can't find him."

"I know," John agreed.

"John."

John turned, and faced Mary. Her face was white as a sheet. She was truly terrified. He walked over to her, and knelt beside his girlfriend. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

Mary nodded, weakly.

Lestrad appeared with the pliers. "RIght. We need to cut him out of those bonds and hide him. Any ideas?"

"I might," John said. "But we need to act quickly."

John grabbed the pliers, and began cutting Sherlock out of his chair. The detective winced in pain.

"John, I'm so sorry," he said, before passing out into a cold slumber.


End file.
